


parties and pondering

by boom_goes_the_canon



Series: rationalism and Romanticism [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lobsters, M/M, Misunderstandings, Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_goes_the_canon/pseuds/boom_goes_the_canon
Summary: Courfeyrac is absolutely delighted to help out a friend in need. It is a hobby. It is an art form. He revels in it, maybe a little too much, if he’s perfectly honest. So when Jehan practically throws himself across the table for a sympathetic ear, Courfeyrac is there.“I fear I have offended Combeferre,” he says, and the color drains from his face. “Oh gods above and below, I fear I have offended Combeferre.”Courfeyrac dares to sneak a glance over at Combeferre, who doesn’t look offended in the least.
Relationships: Combeferre/Jean Prouvaire
Series: rationalism and Romanticism [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890667
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	parties and pondering

Courfeyrac is absolutely delighted to help out a friend in need. It is a hobby. It is an art form. He revels in it, maybe a little too much, if he’s perfectly honest. So when Jehan practically throws himself across the table for a sympathetic ear, Courfeyrac is there.

“I fear I have offended Combeferre,” he says, and the color drains from his face. “Oh gods above and below, I fear I have offended Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac dares to sneak a glance over at Combeferre, who doesn’t look offended in the least. He was, in fact, bent over a book and making corrections in the margins, his nose and glasses flecked with ink, just like yesterday. The only new detail is a bandage on one of his fingers. Courfeyrac glances back at Jehan.

“What did you do?”

Jehan sighs heavily. “We were feeding Lancelot du Lac, my beloved lobster,” he starts.

“Go on.”

“Combeferre thought it best to prolong it, to see his reactions to different foods, you know Combeferre…”

Courfeyrac remembers their first meeting, fishing Combeferre out of the pond he had waded into, shaking duckweed and snails out of his coat pockets, and listening to his rambling about an insect that walked on water. “Don’t we all?”

“Well, Lancelot du Lac objected, rather strenuously.” Courfeyrac winces, and Jehan continues. “He may have attacked, just a little, and refused to detach,” –Jehan waves his arms, “—and on top of it all, he refused to apologize even after we had a pointed discussion.” Jehan pulls his scarlet hat over his face and wails. “Oh, it was awful.”

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath. Patience is the way to deal with these situations, even if it didn’t come easily to him. “Did you apologize to Combeferre?”

Jehan peeks out from underneath the hat, and guilt is marked all over his face. “I intended to? But then I decided the best course of action would be to flee the country, or arrange to be buried alive.”

“Or you could apologize,” Courfeyrac says, with his best calming smile and a pat for Jehan’s arm.

“No!” Jehan flushes as the entire room stares, but everyone loses interest quickly enough. “I meant, no. I can’t. Lancelot has to apologize, and I am not his keeper.”

Courfeyrac blinks. “You _are_.”

“Lancelot du Lac is a free spirit,” Jehan tries desperately. “You cannot blame him for rebelling.”

Courfeyrac sighs, makes a show of his exasperation. “Why don’t you want to talk to Combeferre?”

Jehan shudders. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Combeferre does not hate you, nor will he.” Courfeyrac casts another glance in Combeferre’s direction, catches him moon-eyed and staring at the distracting toss of Jehan’s short braid over his shoulder. “It might have something to do with his _overwhelming_ infatuation for you. Just a thought.”

Jehan completely ignores him. “But he might hate me.”

“Combeferre hates the monarchy and the pedantry of the educational system, and you are neither.”

Jehan frowns, offended by the implication. “I could be an abstract concept if I wanted to.”

When Jehan starts talking of abstract concepts, Courfeyrac knows that he was going to be all right. He gives his friend his second-best reassuring smile and sends him on his merry way.

-

Combeferre comes knocking on Courfeyrac’s door not one week later.

“Are you and Jehan having trouble?” Courfeyrac says as he opens the door.

Combeferre doesn’t look impressed at his accurate prediction, though, which is a shame. Courfeyrac worked hard on his delivery. “I wouldn’t say it was trouble, per se.”

“Come into my office, my friend.” He passes an arm around Combeferre and leads him inside. “I know just the thing to calm the aches of a broken heart.”

Combeferre looks so confused, poor thing. “Leeches and nitrate of silver?”

“Wine and good company.”

“And my heart is in perfect working order. You can even listen for yourself, or take my pulse.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, dear Combeferre, that maybe, just a little, you are missing the point?”

“No,” Combeferre says, and sits with great dignity and deliberation in Courfeyrac’s favorite chair, the devil take him. “And as I said, it is not exactly trouble. I would simply like some advice.”

“You have my complete and undivided attention,” Courfeyrac says with relish and panache.

“How do you throw a lobster a birthday party?”

He has to admit; he did not see that coming. “Pardon me?”

“Jehan’s lobster, to be more specific.” As if that clarifies anything. “I am leaning towards a cake made of seaweed and perhaps some ocean-themed decorations.”

“Why limit yourself with the decorations?” Courfeyrac asks. “You _are_ throwing this party for Jehan, right?”

“His lobster,” Combeferre insists.

“Oh, stop kidding yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Combeferre says, but he refuses to meet Courfeyrac’s eyes and he fidgets with his coat buttons.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Courfeyrac says, adopting his most wheedling tone. “If the owner of the lobster is of a Romantic persuasion, wouldn’t the lobster also enjoy the celebration of our endless march through life even as the jaws of death gape ever closer?”

Combeferre glares at him. “You would make a horrible Romantic.”

“I do try.”

-

The party, when it arrives, is held in Jehan’s quarters, and all of the Amis turn up. Enjolras, making a face of confusion every time he gets a whiff of the opium vapors. Bahorel, already holding court with an incomprehensible rendition of the time he stole a policeman’s hat and threw it in the Seine. Feuilly, who is quite a hit with his talk of internationalism and the fans he is fruitlessly trying to paint. Joly and Bossuet, bringing with them a maelstrom of puns and wine. Grantaire, who spends the entire evening waffling about octopi. Courfeyrac has even managed to wrangle Marius.

“It’s a lovely party,” Jehan says loudly, stroking Lancelot du Lac with one finger. “So Romantic.”

Courfeyrac grins. “Combeferre planned it, you know,” he says, as casually as he can manage.

Jehan, instead of an impressed gasp or a happy swoon, just looks at Courfeyrac strangely. “Did you think I didn’t know? I do live here. I expect I would have noticed someone setting up for a party.”

Truth be told, Courfeyrac isn’t sure Jehan would have noticed. Combeferre’s decorations blend in seamlessly, the massive amounts of seafood could have been acquired in a drunken revel, and the odd pile of Romantics is a regular feature on Jehan’s floor. The only unusual thing is the new giant tank in the middle of the room, furnished with everything a lobster of Lancelot du Lac’s station could possibly want.

“Well, it’s a nice gesture,” Courfeyrac says, with a smile to save face. “You should show him your appreciation.”

“You mean I should kiss him in front of all these people?”

“Exactly.” Courfeyrac nods encouragingly in Combeferre’s direction. He wishes, just a little, that Combeferre was doing something more worthy of high romance, and not getting blood all over his best waistcoat in an attempt to dissect a foot in peace. “Go on, then.”

“But I’ve done that already.” Jehan looks confused. “Multiple times.”

“What?!”

“Well, he insisted that we do it out of your sight.”

“Why?!”

“He seemed to think you might pry.” Jehan pales. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“I think Combeferre and I need to have a chat.”

Jehan grabs his arm. “Wait.”

“Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll keep your name out of it—“

“What? No. If you would please wait a moment, I will just write Combeferre a letter and you can deliver it for me when you have your chat.”

Courfeyrac blinks. “Combeferre is in the room with you.”

“Yes, but letters are so much more Romantic, don’t you think? I will include a bat in the envelope. That ought to liven it up.”

“Jehan—”

“—I wonder how I will catch one at this hour.”

“Jehan, I am going over to talk to Combeferre right now.”

Jehan looks up from his frantic scribblings. Ink has spattered all over his sleeves and all over Lancelot du Lac. “But, but…I’m almost finished!”

Even through the rage of betrayal, Courfeyrac has to be impressed. He waits for Jehan to make final adjustments to his definitely-scandalous verses, watches him press a dead flower and a kiss into the wax, and address it with a flourish.

“I will forever be in your debt,” Jehan says as Courfeyrac makes a show of tucking the letter into his pocket. “Your generosity is as bounteous as the bosom of the earth, as the depths of the ocean, as—”

Courfeyrac never finds out what his generosity is like, because Combeferre rises from his corner like a vengeful Enjolras from the back room of the Musain, whisks Jehan away to the other room, and slams the door behind him.

Oh well. At least Courfeyrac has the letter to tease Combeferre with tomorrow.


End file.
